


Shake It Off

by electricghoti



Series: Tenebrium/Take Flight [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bromance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Romance, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3425543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricghoti/pseuds/electricghoti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abelas comes to Skyhold at the behest of Solas (from the Temple of Sacred Asses). Occurs over an unspecified amount of time in which Abelas is a bro to Lavellan before romance. Slow burn. Best to view relevant fan art in order to understand some references.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Abelas, Hey Gurl](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/100073) by slayerofkillabee. 
  * Inspired by [Are you Sure?](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/100076) by slayerofkillabee. 
  * Inspired by [Did She Mention Me?](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/100079) by slayerofkillabee. 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I never lied about my age."

It started in the Great Hall. Fires were low and devoid of people, save for an armored figure casting long shadows by the entrance. He lacked the iconic hood and heavy pauldrons most saw of him during the day. A pale braid hung in contrast over a bare, olive colored shoulder. Crooked lines of faded green curled over his shoulders as if roots to the etched branches on his face.  
He sat with his back to the fire, one leg crossed over the other and an arm resting easy on the table beside him. A calloused hand held a book propped against his knee, the heavy gauntlets he was accustomed to wearing left with the other pieces of his armor. The corners were worn and the cover faded to illegible gold script. He thumbed through the pages slowly and with care. His lips moved occasionally as if mumbling the words to himself. 

The metallic creak of a door and a cold breeze preceded the entrance of the current owner Tarasyl'an Te'las. She still had trouble sleeping through nights. Her independence seemed no comfort here, despite time stitching the worst of wounds. The Wolf had shared his loss readily enough, but she was not quite as free. She seemed determined to expel the worst through will and a grating Imperium mage who asks entirely too many questions. “Protect her” seemed simple. He had deliberately poked the Wolf at the time, but in seriousness he thought it also meant “protect her from me.” As to how...he had some ideas.

As Lavellan padded toward him, bare feet quiet against the rug path, he deliberately raised his voice just enough for snippets of elvish to be heard. Just enough to tease. She could be blunt, yet couldn't resist stories or snippets of the empire that once was. She didn't seem surprised to see him here, given the unusual propensity of some of her other companions. Gold eyes that mirrored his own caught the faded filigree on the spine of the book. “I think I recognize some of those words.” She took a place at his side, sitting backwards on a chair so her arms rested against the back. Raising her eyebrows in inquiry, she finished with, “They're not usually ones people speak in polite company.” 

There was the opening he intended. Bait taken. Stilling his fingers on the page, he casually turned his head toward her to speak. “Your gasp of language is worse than I feared. These are words which used to be spoken by your ancestors to lovers and those of courting intent.”

“With those words? Some of them I haven't heard since my great-grandmother, and some are filthy in any context. Whose dusty trunk did you pull this from?”

He shook his head at the jib, lifting the book to give her a better view of the words. Entirely as dirty as she caught, though he doubted she could fully translate the page.  
“It is mine. It is of...amusing sentimental value. I have never lied about my age, after all.” 

“I appreciate the honesty, but then again you don't hide it well either. Is that..” She paused, squinting at the book in the dim light of the fire. She was quiet for a moment, eyes catching on each word or phrase she knew. Her eyebrows lifted higher on each line as the dawning realization of what, precisely, the subject she was reading about. Poetry. Limericks. Terrible, in both content and talent. It might as well be ancient elvhen graffiti written in book form.

He was rewarded with laughter in bubbling volume. Turning the book back toward him, he thumbed to the next page, pointedly staring at her with a knowing smirk. 

“Would you appreciate me reading some in full?”  
“Please.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I would never consider kissing you impulsive and ill-considered. In fact, it would be ill-considered to NOT kiss you."

Candid moments seemed easy to come by in the tavern. At this point, he was certain some of his ease was due to the alcoholic beverages Lavellan...Rhanae, insisted on him drinking with her. The “best” this tavern could procure was merely passable and best nursed slow. His hands rested around the mostly empty mug in front of him, a thumb rubbing idly against the metal handle. She, on the other hand, gestured with both hands as she talked. Sometimes she signed symbols in the air. Sometimes her hands were used to outline shapes. Ambiguous concepts were crafted with strange motions of no specific pattern.  
They had moved past the halting small talk and social “getting to know you” dance sometime after a sleepless night in the Great Hall. 

He mostly listened tonight, letting her craft the conversation as she wished. Her hands turned choppy at this point in the conversation. Frustrated, angry hands. The Wolf, of course, was the cause. Again. He listened with some curiosity with the current story. An odd choice, yet trusting. Her first kiss with him, or rather, the aftermath. “Ill-considered?” He intoned with some incredulity, raising his eyebrows. 

More choppy hands, as if slicing away the idea.

He shook his head with disappointment. Pride still had yet to learn the value of one who was supposed to be beloved and precious. Despite the horrendous emotional display, the Wolf seemed bent on dooming himself along with everyone else.

“I would never consider kissing you to be impulsive or ill-considered.” It was a simple statement, spoken directly without idle fingers or wavering attention. Eyes on her.

Her hands fell. 

The animation in her face settled to a polite neutrality, honey eyes considering considering his brighter gold. Perhaps she had misconstrued his intent?  
“Now you're flattering me.” Appraising uncertainty in her voice. Serious or jest?  
“Entirely. In fact, it would be ill-considered not to kiss you.” He offered a crooked smile, choosing humor over a straight face. He could practically hear the eye roll he received in response. Jest was correct. A hand rose to wave away his words, smooth and unhurried.

“If you you would rather,” he began, abandoning the subject by sliding his mug to the edge of the table, “I still have some pages yet to share.”

“My room. Now.” A simple, excited command. It was punctuated with a drink practically guzzled and the clatter of copper coins on the table.

Reading dirty poetry to laugh and distract? He could work with that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Has she mentioned me at all?"

He supposed he should have expected this. The immediate satisfaction with poking Pride would later be dampened with later consequences. This was the first consequence, he noted with distaste, examining his surroundings. He awoke sitting cross-legged against a leaning oak, unclothed, grass tickling awkward places. The steam of a hot spring curled a short distance in front of him and a single occupant was leaning back against the edge.

“You are aware.” The elven man used the phrase as a greeting, not bothering to turn around. His lip curled slightly in response. Pride. Even with the braided dreads spilling over his shoulders, his voice was immediately recognizable. The stitches holding this dream together were familiar.  
“I am.” He offered the statement in reply, sliding himself toward the spring to bring himself to a more equal position. He settled comfortably against a curved edge of earth, propping himself up with his elbows off to each side. The Wolf, he noted, held a glass of pink liquid with a ridiculous tiny rain shielding apparatus.

“I'm glad you could join me. This might simply be the Fade, but feel free to relax in this place.” Pride gestured to a tall glass with equally pink liquid and a strange, heart-shaped tube curling up from the lip. He raised an eyebrow briefly before picking up the glass around the wider top portion. It seemed an unusually casual meeting. He would play along, for now, and try to move this along as quickly as possible.

“I had hoped we could speak privately. It has been some time since we've spoken and I--” Pride faltered briefly, looking away to some remembered pain before continuing, “I was wondering if she was..well.”

And there it was. He gave him credit for getting to the heart of the matter so quickly. He had assumed it would be an avoiding, roundabout process that danced around the issue. He stalled for time, pursing angled lips to the tube in his glass and sucked in sharply. The glass angled enough for the liquid to slurp loudly as it passed through the heart-shape. Sweet flavor. Bold.

Like Rhanae.  
Unbidden, her lips came to the forefront of his mind. Curved. Sweet. A boldness behind them. His, angular and sharp. Teeth teasing a lower lip. Sharp. Tongue sweeping in softness, apology. She would already look up to meet him, but his hand would curve beneath her chin despite it. The pad of his thumb traced her jaw, fingers curling against the back of her neck. Just a little higher to bury them in her hair.

“Well?”

Broken reverie. He took too long. He was lucky his face didn't betray his thoughts. Pushing back the vision, he curled the corners of his lips in a smile that seemed a little too self-satisfied. A single word came to mind.

“Nope.”

The face of Pride immediately fell. Deflated once again by a single rebuttal. He pursed his lips in disappointment and uttered quietly,  
“It's time to wake up.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I would be impulsive for you every day."

It was a spontaneous decision. He did not make spontaneous decisions. Yet here he was, sitting beside the doors to the kitchen in full armor, waiting for the right opportunity. The armor was unnecessary, worn for comfort and familiarity for his intended purpose this day. [something something, listening.]

Footsteps preceded the clunky sound of a handle turning behind the door. Now or never. The time to put his skills to use in a decidedly less serious fashion than he was used to. Shadow was his friend and the barrier to the sound his armor normally made. He crouched. Sprang.  
The servant noticed nothing as she opened the door to let the cooling air breeze through the kitchen to clear the smoke and smell. Apples. Sweet. Baked in a cake-like crunchy bread. Perfect timing.  
He dashed inside, bits of his shadowy cloak trailing behind him. He drew on an orb of magic in one hand, the glow sparkling from him causing the other servants to cry out in confusion. Perhaps a little fear.  
They were unimportant. Frozen in place. His eyes were on the trays of baked sweets left cooling on the middle tables. The risk of retribution was minimal, though it would have been less amusing to simply walk in and demand. He was focused on a different prize.

A free hand darted toward the first tray, sliding several pieces to the orb in his palm. Too hot to hold, he opted to keep them suspended in magic stasis. He heard a startled cry behind him. The servant who opened the door was rushing toward him. To the poor man, the treats simply vanished into the billowy cloud.   
He side-stepped easily, reaching toward the next tray and sliding more of the apple treats into the stasis orb. That should be plenty. Both of snacks and terror for the servants who would think their castle even more haunted than usual. He could blame it on Rhanae's spirit boy, he noted to himself as he threw open the door leading further into the castle. A plate he snagged from a pile by the door completed the heist.   
It was time to share the spoils.

He used a foot to shut the door firmly behind him. He wouldn't be followed now. Pressing the orb of magic against the stolen plate, he carefully released his magic to protect the still soft treats from smushing together. It was...presentable, at least.

Straightening his back, he squared his shoulders before opening the next barrier into the painted rotunda where he had seen Lavellan last. At the sound of a door opening, she looked up from her position on the couch on the opposite from where he stood. Surprise and interest.   
He supported the plate on his fingertips, striding toward her with a confident stride. The dutiful servant. He stopped at the side of the couch, bending low at the waist to allow her full view of the plate he held in offering. “For you, my lady.” He inclined his head toward her, a conspiratory expression hidden in no way whatsoever.  
“And the screaming I heard from the kitchen is in no way related to this event?” The words might have been chiding, but lost their bite when she reached toward the plate.   
“I am not certain they are. I simply thought it would do you well to have a break.” 

“I hope you aren't planning to terrify my staff every time you do something nice for me.” 

“Plan? Never. I would be impulsive for you every day.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have no trouble distracting you from your duty. I certainly hope you'll distract me from mine."

The demons of paperwork had taken hold. He had not seen Rhanae for nearly the full day. Granted, it seemed like a full day of both lecturing and arguing from the “advisor” who seemed not aware of any color aside from the shiniest gold. Acquiring a few books should not be of such a conflicting request. He didn't understand the reservation she had. That the subject was apparently “ludicrous, lurid, lewd” and “did he understand the favors she had to use to procure them” should have no bearing on whether she could acquire them.

The headache he had developed during the exasperating hours (hours!) he spent with the dark skinned shemlen threatened to pound his skull into dust before she finally relented. She must have already had them in hand due to the short period of time it took for her to return to him.   
“Here.” She sighed, thrusting a heavy satchel in his direction. “Will I need to expect similar requests in the future, messere?”

“I would recommend currying the favors you need now in preparation for the future.” She pursed her lips disapprovingly, but at least bit her tongue of the retort she certainly wished to speak. Satisfied he had gained the last word in this argument, he turned on his heel and left her speechless at her place of power.  
He hefted the satchel over his shoulder while he climbed the long steps towards the Inquisitor's sex loft. The change of the guard indicated the late hour. Petitioners and residents alike were abandoning the halls for their nightly activities. The evening sun had cast long shadows through the stained glass spiraling along the walls. Why the builder insisted on so many stairs was beyond him. 

She had been hunched over the desk in the corner of the room. Crumpled balls of paper were scattered around her feet. Her face seemed to transition between frustration and disgust. Sharp strokes of a quill punctuated each change as she reached the end of sentences. Messy stacks of papers were divided in several piles in front of her. This would simply not do.

He knocked sharply against the door at the top of the stairs. Unneeded, since it was left ajar. Polite all the same. “That dwarf downstairs told me he had once been nearly killed by bills of lading. I am not certain what they are, but I presume you are valiantly battling them here.”

She snorted with amusement, smiling with his approach. “The demons of paperwork, yes. I'd rather toss it all out the window. Josephine has somehow convinced me it is my duty to answer all these letters.”

“Duty?” He shook his head in disapproval. He slung the satchel from his shoulders and pulled open the corded opening. He reached in to pull out part of its contents, smiling as he noticed her straightening to try and peek inside.   
“Unlike her,” he pointedly glared down the floor, “I have no problem with distracting you from your duty.” 

“I really should get throu-” She started to decline, lifting her hands palms out in a gesture of stop and surrender to paperwork of boring. The title of the book held in his hand caught her eye. Stopped mid-sentence.  
“Oh? I certainly hope you'll distract me from mine.”  
“Gimme. Now. Pillow fort?” Wide-eyed with hands repeatedly both grasping in the air and pointing toward the alcove above her bed. Pleading with the excitement he had so easily become accustomed to. How could he deny her now?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't hit it and quit it. I finish what I start. Including you. I endure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slayerofkillabee from Tumblr made some super adorable art about the end of the chapter. You should click the link and then give her all of the love.   
> http://slayerofkillabee.tumblr.com/image/112392997421

“I am not fond of abandoning a cause due to whim. I finish what I start, including you. I...endure.” The intended humor fell flat behind the earnest tone in his voice. His hands tightened against his knees. Little space separated his and hers, yet it seemed to stretch for miles. His lips pursed in certainty of his audible blunder. He waited. Earnestness had no place where he was sure it wouldn't be welcomed.

“You endure?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly, catching on to the tone of his final word. Clearly a statement and less a question. “We'll see about that. Keep reading to me, and we'll see how it goes. I can promise no more.”  
Despite the distant nature of her words, he felt the warmth of calloused fingers intertwine with his. The tan of her skin contrasted starkly against paler olive. Their worlds distant, yet in this moment together. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding in relief.  
He gave both hands a gentle squeeze, drinking in the moment. 

He moved, slow and quiet, eyes catching hers. His head leaned forward, mouth settling on her forehead where June's markings would have crossed, if she had kept them.  
His eyes closed, blind to her thoughts. His lips were kept light and tender on her skin, despite the growing trepidation he had pushed past the line she had drawn.

Instead, she kept her hands with his. Sighed. Moments of peace and wanting. Shoulders shook against the ache no longer supposed to hurt, but she placed her trust in another.  
Her choice. Her bond, created, crafted, all new for him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I would never take you to a wyvern nest on a date, unless you want to get the blood pumping. In which case, I'll get my warhammer."

“I can think of more appropriate places to take a woman than a used wyvern nest.” He paused, considering. She did seem to have an unusual propensity to fight any and all creature crossing her path. “Unless you wish to be placed in peril, in which case...I will carry my warhammer.”  
He earned a small bark of laughter for his effort. 

“I enjoy a good blood pumping. I'll get my coat. There's a dragon that need slaying, somewhere.”

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised at this point. He sighed with some resignation as she excitedly left the room. Dragon slaying was not his preferred idea of fun or bonding, but then again, he had heard they had been hunted to extinction.  
Maybe he would be lucky and they would simply run into a bears.

He would learn not to underestimate fate, or Rhanae's tendency for finding the worst of trouble. Dragon indeed. He had stripped the upper pieces of his armor, bloodied and dented. He had abstained from stripping the lower portion, intending to remove the rest by a nearby lake. 

She, on the other hand, seemed not notice or care for removing hers. She stood by with a hand over her mouth as if to silence the words behind them, observing the methodical removal of his armor with keen interest.   
“Do you intend to stand about all night? You are just as filthy as I.”

“I might,” she teased, “if you continue with the show. A girl's got needs, after all.”

“And I need to bathe, lest I glisten obscenely for the rest of the night.” He countered, waiving his hand up and down his chest. A deliberate drawing of her eye. Two can play her game. 

“You're sure you need to bathe right now?” She stood on her toes to meet him, a hand curling behind his shoulder. The other clasped his, palms against his, the top of her hand pressing against his leg. Her face, a breath apart from his. Lips ghosted over his as she spoke. Heavy lids shielded her eyes in trust and expectation.. A tease. An invitation. 

“Nope.” 

Nothing more was necessary. He weaved his fingers in her hair, tightening to tug in a gentle pull. A silent request to tilt her head back, and one which she readily complied. He paused, waiting until her eyes raised to meet his. Molten gold, bright against the honey of hers. Caring and need. Only for her. He hoped she understood.

His angular lips settled on hers, gentle at first, then insistent and wanting.  
He felt a tug as his hand, still clasped with hers, slide between them. His armor blunted the feeling, but its intent, her desire, clear as day.  
Perhaps she could help him choose a new name..  
He just needed to get out of this armor, first.


End file.
